


White House Chief of Staff

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Character Study
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-17
Updated: 2006-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:12:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Different people of the West Wing reflect on their lives so far.





	White House Chief of Staff

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

 

RATING: G  
NOTES: New series. See Part One.  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own the West Wing or any of its related   
characters. Don't sue.   
SUMMARY: Different people of the West Wing reflect on their lives so   
far.

They're arguing again. These people are the most intelligent,   
hard-working people in the country and yet they are in the Oval   
Office, arguing like children about income tax fraud. If you ask me,   
it's not exactly an argue-worthy topic. The President is rolling his   
eyes which is my cue to change the subject. That's my job at these   
meetings.  
These kids are so passionate; it makes me smile to seem them   
hard at work. CJ yells at the boys, a powerful and yet graceful   
conscience working for the rest of us. Toby stands in the corner,   
fiercely making his argument with all the intelligence and eloquence   
that he has at his command. Sam jumps off the couch in a moment of   
excitement, his voice echoing the mixture of innocence and idealism   
that comprises his personality. Josh rolls his eyes and argues back   
with words mixed with sarcasm and political intuition. In the midst   
of all this, my best friend goes back and forth between listening   
intently and making fun of them when their passion takes them towards   
the wrong path somewhere. He's the one with the charm that got us   
into this here office.  
For right now though, I'm tired and I want to go home.   
We've come so far in the last two (almost three) years. We have   
come so far as politicians but also as people. I'm not just talking   
about what the shooting did to us though it did quite a bit. We're   
all a little quieter. Some of us have different values than before   
and some of us are behaving strangely. What I'm talking about though   
is this entire run. Our life in this office has changed each and   
every one of us. I know for a fact that my life has become a lot more   
complicated. The world discovered I was a recovering drug addict in   
addition the widely known information about my alcoholism, my wife   
left me, and my daughter started dating one of my staffers, only to   
meet pothole after pothole with him and then ending up in the arms of   
a hockey player.  
On top of all that, both my best friend and the man that I look   
upon as a son were shot in the same nine seconds, the latter of the   
two nearly killed. Yes, this place has definitely changed me. I   
believe it has changed us all.  
Thank God the staff meeting is finally over. I retreat back to   
my office and collapse into the chair behind my desk. Normally I   
would expect the staff to follow me back here for an additional ten   
minutes or so, just to check on things, but not today. No one is in   
the mood for it today. I think we're all in a sort of reflective mood   
today. It's funny how we all get into moods collectively; it's like   
we all think in the same way. We share moods.   
When I think about this big picture that people refer to as   
life, I wonder how I made it this far. When I was in Vietnam, I told   
myself to do whatever I could to stay alive, but there was always   
this nagging feeling that I wouldn't be able to. In the air, being   
inside the tiny cockpit of a plane with guns blazing at you, there's   
this strong sense of claustrophobia. I had this constant fear that I   
was going to die, and that fear somehow kept me alive.  
Does that make any sense whatsoever?  
I wonder what my parents first thought when they saw me on the   
day that I was born? I wonder what they envisioned for my future. I   
wonder if my mother looks down on me from Heaven even now? Are they   
proud of me? Are they surprised? Are they not surprised? I'm fifty-  
five years old and I still wonder about that. I want to do good   
things for this country and I want to be a man my parents could be   
proud of. I know that I've done good things and I realize that I've   
been a less than perfect man in my life, but I do think that they are   
proud of me, wherever they are.  
I'd like to think that in death, my father is wiser than he was   
in life. That is why I include him in these thoughts. Maybe that's   
just wishful thinking. However, part of me just needs to believe that   
if I can reform in life, he was able to reform in death. He's got to   
be in Hell, I realize, if all the stuff in the bible is true, but   
somewhere in me, there's that little boy who has to believe that Dad   
is okay, resting happily, his only regret being the pain he caused   
his family.  
I wonder if Mallory believes that for me; if she will when I   
die?  
Another day is almost over. It's just a matter of taking things   
one day at a time. Sometimes I wonder where the road ends. It's not   
like I'm obsessed with my own mortality, but there are times when I   
wonder what the whole thing is about. I'm proud of myself and the man   
that I am today, but I still wonder: how does it all end? I'm   
approaching "old age" apparently and I'm just wondering what's going   
to happen when I get there. Maybe it's too soon to start thinking   
about that. It's definitely depressing.   
What other work have I got to do today? Margaret has been her   
normal self today, but I also detect a sense of sadness, or maybe   
it's caution, in her demeanor. She's thinking about the past again. I   
always wonder what it is she's thinking about when she gets like   
this. I feel like there's something she wants to tell me, but she   
won't for some reason. Part of me is dying to know what it is, and   
the other part of me needs to respect her privacy. Also, I know how   
she gets when she starts talking about stuff; she just can't stop.   
I'll end up knowing more than I'd ever wanted to, more than I ever   
will want to. I guess it's better then that I remain in suspense.   
She'll tell me when she wants to; if she wants to.  
I'm ready to go home. It's not even five yet, but I'm ready to   
go home. Is the apartment I now live in "home" though? Sometimes I   
wonder. Sometimes I think that "home" means so much more than the   
place where you live. The house I used to share with Jenny is full of   
so many memories, so many years spent together in happiness. My   
apartment doesn't have those memories; it doesn't have the same   
sentimental value. "Home is where the heart is." How true that is.   
Sadly, it's too true, for my heart is somewhere in that house   
across town. It's where my home is. Where it was.   
I still have work to do. Funny, I actually enjoy my work. I   
work hard every day and I try to do my best at it. It's a far cry   
from growing up in New England back when I was just a little kid who   
didn't worry about the future. I played baseball, I flirted with   
girls and I rode my bike all over whichever town I happened to be in.   
For some reason, we move four times when I was young. Still, it was   
the move to New Hampshire that was the final one. It was there that I   
met Jed Bartlet. I was sixteen years old, almost a year younger, and   
our friendship was instant. I knew he was never going to be a priest.   
His hormones were far too active for that sort of career.   
Good thing Abbey set him straight. From what I understand, it   
wasn't too hard for her to do that, in any case.   
What shall I do? The time is slowly ticking by and I find that   
I'm stalling. I guess my love for this work takes a backseat to moods   
like this. I guess I caught it from the staff. Sometimes it is   
interesting though, just to sit here and think about everything...   
anything. The past or the future, it hardly matters. In this moment,   
I'm here. I'm the sum of all my yesterdays and I am the person who   
will take on my future. It's all somewhat daunting...   
My name is not Gerald!! Damn that Marbury! A simple phone   
message from him ruins my train of thought. I'm sure he'd be glad to   
hear that though. I really need to stop letting him get to me.   
These kids really are great. I don't know how I'd survive   
without them. Their passion, their intelligence, their devotion and   
perseverance... It's admirable. We picked a good team with these   
folks. It makes me proud when they argue in the Oval Office. It tells   
me their brains are still functioning. It's these kind of people that   
make me want to say "God Bless America" and actually mean it. I love   
them as I love my family.   
Time flies. I look around my office and smile weakly. The   
darkened room feels like home. This is where my heart is. This is   
where it belongs. Margaret comes in to tell me it's time to go home.   
I can only reply:  
"I am home."

  


End file.
